


Glass Houses

by Megpie71



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, Monologue, Morality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 19:05:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13037496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megpie71/pseuds/Megpie71
Summary: "How many people died, Barret?  How many people lost their lives because of your crusade?"





	Glass Houses

How many people died, Barret? How many people lost their lives because of your crusade? You talk about the Turks as though they're low, horrible people, doing despicable things for a disgusting employer, and yeah, maybe that's true. But if we're fair, they did what they were doing because someone thought it was right. Same reason you bombed the reactors. 

So let's come back to it - how many people died after Reactor One got bombed?

How many kids in blue uniforms did we kill that night, between the two of us? Kids whose only sin was in doing their jobs.

Five, six years before, I could have been one of those kids we mowed down. Heck, five, six years before, I WAS one of those kids - skinny little grunt in a blue uniform, helmet making vision damn near impossible, gun that weighed a ton on the end of each arm, feeling godsdamn ridiculous and looking like nothing on earth, because that's where my squad got posted: reactor patrol. I wanted to be a SOLDIER, wound up a trooper instead, and according to the records I managed to get Reeve and Rude to pull for me, I spent my time as a reactor Grunt. No choice in the matter, by the way - I went where I was assigned. 

Each of those kids we killed had a story, Barret - they had a family who were hurt when they were told their boys weren't coming home. They had friends who grieved their loss. I've met some of those families, met some of the survivors. They don't know I'm one of the guys who killed their boy, of course - I set up the trust with Reeve and the WRO, to try and provide some recompense for what happened. Most of them just know me as the delivery guy, turning up on a regular basis with packages of food, clothing, groceries, maybe some toys for kids. There's one old lady out in the middle of fuck-knows-where, halfway between Junon and Mideel, and she depends on those care packages. She invites me in for a cup of tea each time I arrive, and tells me stories about her son. Killed in the attack on Reactor Four, y'know. And I listen, and I let her tell me the same stories every few months, and I let her weep for the loss of the kid I probably killed, and hey, I deserve it. 

Her little boy went to Midgar looking to become a SOLDIER, a hero. Sound familiar?

Barret. If you're going to bitch about the Turks drinking in Tifa's bar - _Tifa's_ bar, let's not forget, not yours - because you're scared Marlene might come into contact with a murderer... well, maybe you need to find someone else to look after your daughter for you. Because when it comes to hands drenched in blood... you remember that night, damn it. And you remember how Tifa's gloves looked at the end of the Reactor Four run. Neither Tifa nor myself have clean hands.

Do you remember what you said to Dyne, just after he'd gone into that canyon near the Gold Saucer? About your hands not being clean enough to lift Marlene either? 

Or have you decided your glass mansion is big enough to handle you throwing stones at others?

**Author's Note:**

> Came out of a comment I'd made elsewhere, about the way the popular fanon of Barret not trusting the Turks around Marlene because "they're murderers" really does skate over a lot of shaky moral ground. After all, if you're a former terrorist, and you've taken part personally in two raids on two reactors... how clean are your hands in the matter?


End file.
